What If
by ponylover4ever
Summary: What if Katniss's father survived the mine explosion? What if she never met Gale? How would a certain blue eyed merchant catch her eye in the end? 1st story. I suck at summaries, so please give this a chance! Rated T because it's the Hunger Games Future K/P
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here, the mine collapse in D12 takes place in the early spring rather than in the winter, for it is easier to plan out the fic this way. Also, Annie won the 69th Hunger Games in this story as well, which will become clear later.

**Katniss POV**

"Today in Panem History, you will be learning about how District 12 was created by the Capitol ninety years ago. Please open your packet to page C-"and that's when the alarms went off...

It was the third to last class of the day, and I was starting to get anxious. My father had decided to take me hunting once again this afternoon, and the weather was wonderful. I had just been learning how to step quietly, pick the fresh fruit growing around the lake, and fish. One opportunity I hadn't gotten, however, was to practice with a real bow (or any weapon, really). I had been daydreaming about how good it would feel to have a bow in my hands and a sheath of arrows on my back. I've carried my father's bow while he took the game bag, but it just wasn't the same. All of those thoughts flew out of my mind once the alarms started to blare. At first, I was so stunned I simply froze in the midst of bustling students. I was like a wounded animal who was so shocked at the arrow it couldn't act. I snapped out of it. The fates of those animals were never pleasant. Quickly, I ran into the hallway. Little Prim was doing exactly as she should be doing when I finally reached her classroom. Sitting on the edge of her wooden school chair with the back broken off, she anxiously waited for me to collect her. The obnoxious ringing of the alarm kept on going as she and I took off towards the school entrance. I could only form one conscious thought, one that constantly was reminding me that this could be all for nothing, that my father could be long dead. Mine explosions always resulted in fatalities, no matter how 'small' they were. One minute, you're hacking away at a seam of coal, the next: either dead or close to it.

That was three hours ago. Now, Prim, my mother and I were waiting anxiously at the rope that held back the families. At one point, nearly all of the people from the Seam were crowded at this rope. Now, the desperate few are left, waiting for a miracle to happen. Prim notices Rory Hawthorne and his family amongst the group. His older brother Gale died last year after the flu swept through the district. Nearly two-hundred people died, and there would've been more without Haymitch going around and donating food and medicine he'd snuck from his house in the Victor's Village. Now it's possible that he will become the 'man of the house' at the tender age of seven. The thought infuriates me.

Smoke rises up from the collapsed area and gradually thickens and spreads. Wonderful. At least if my father died in the explosion, it would be nearly painless, not to mention quick. Burning to death, however, isn't as forgiving.

There are still thirty families left when the Peacekeepers announce that this is the last elevator to bring up the miners. By now it has started to rain lightly, and the feeling of spring soon disappears as the temperature drops to forty-five degrees Fahrenheit. I cross my fingers on each hand and pray for my father and Mr. Hawthorne. Seconds later, the elevator vomits up five sooty miners. My father is among them.

"Lillian!" He chokes out, and before he can say anything else, breaks out into a coughing fit. My mother is too emotional to speak. A feeling of relief, joy, and fear washes over me. My father may be alive, but as I try to reach out and hug him, he backs away before I could wrap my arms around his waist, like I always do when he gets home from work. The reason why soon becomes clear. He has long burns up the back of his legs and torso. Parts of his hair are singed away, and the back of his mining clothes are gone. Disorientated, he greatly accepts the stretcher and lies down on his stomach. Three Peacekeepers, Darius, Purnia, and Levi slowly take the stretcher and walk down the beaten path to the Seam. Prim runs up with my mother to prepare the table for medical uses, and I shuffle along in the back, watching my once capable father being carried towards our house. _

"Katniss, please take Prim and go to bed. It is very late, and your father needs to rest," Mother commands quietly. I nod, too tired to argue. My father is currently lying on the kitchen table, out cold on sleep syrup. Thin strips of bandages and clean clothing cover the burns. As my mother sits in a chair stroking his hair back, I wonder how she could've afforded to fall in love with a man from the Seam. Surely, she could have had a wealthier man from town, as she's a townie herself. He and her children would be as safe as you could get; not having to face starvation, the mines, and most likely, the Hunger Games. Town kids never take tesserae, even if they could afford the extra help. This is just one way the Capitol has split the district. Everything in town seems so much more desirable than anything in the Seam. Just take today as an example. You don't willingly choose to have your spouse nearly die in a mine accident when you could avoid it. But it's futile to think like that now, for we are powerless to stop any of this, to make marrying into the Seam less of a symbol of social destruction and more of a symbol of equality. Of course, we are powerless to stop just about anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! HW and horses are really taking up a lot of my free time! I may not update for a while, so I can complete the fic and then update once a day with no writer's block, or we can continue this way and see where it goes... Please let me know!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own THG or the characters... Any similarities between other fics are purely coincidental. **

**Katniss's POV**

Three weeks after the accident, my mother has made no move towards finding a job. The mines have reopened, but my father's wounds are still too raw for him to wear his mining clothes without possibly infecting the burns again. My mother just sits by my father's bed while he is knocked out with sleep syrup, still weak from the infection that nearly took his life a week and a half ago. She sits by his side and brews up medicine and whatever scraps I find to help us scrape along.

Now, I am walking out to the meadow to gather the last of the dandelion leaves. My first reaping is in two weeks, and we are desperate for food. I scour the meadow for any edible plants, but most of them haven't gotten the chance to regrow since my last trip out here. Three dandelion leaves and a mint leaf lie at the bottom of my pail. I break down before I can start towards home. This is it. Prim's cheeks are already hollow with hunger and my father can't get enough nutrition to really be on the mend, all because I can't provide the food and my mother couldn't provide the will. We are both a disgrace to our family. Even the Hawthornes are better off: Hazelle is the Seam's washer woman, despite her newborn that arriving at the worst time possible. Mr. Hawthorne didn't make it. When my father learned, he didn't speak for two days. He was alive because his fellow worker had offered him the easier shift as a gift, one closer to the mine entrance.

I must sit there and sob for an hour. By the time I look up from my nearly empty pail, it is sunset. That's when I see a tuft of blond hair approaching from the other side of a small rise. I freeze. What purpose would a townie have to be in the Seam or the Meadow? They have never bothered to come out here unless it's to get cheap help. I am shocked when I easily recognize the deep blue eyes of Peeta Mellark.

"Oh... I'm sorry! I didn't realize anyone was out here..." he tries to turn back when he sees me, but trips over the little bucket and goes down. The four small pieces of sustenance go flying.

"Oh, gosh! I'm terribly sorry, Katniss," Peeta turns beat red and goes to gather the leaves. I ignore this, immediately suspicious of him.

"How do you know my name?" I snap.

"Katniss, we are in the same classes in school. Everyone our age knows who you are," he says drily.

"Why are you out here?" I continue to interrogate him, not convinced that everyone would know me and confused about what he is expecting to do.

"I come here to see the sunset. Who knows- might be one of my last ones... I'd rather enjoy the view without my mother." This catches my attention, and I am immediately drawn to this boy. Yes, he is not starving, but he's decent enough to have a talk with me, and why not admit it? He's handsome and I can somewhat relate to him.

"It is beautiful our here," I say. I'm inwardly wincing at the sound of my voice, still thick and cracked from crying. Apparently, my former emotions are obvious, because Peeta looks genuinely concerned about me.

"I heard about your father, and I just want to give you this..." He reaches into his school bag and produces one and a half loaves of burnt bread. "I told my father I was going to try to draw out here. You see, I accidentally burned these, and I was hoping that I could give you them..." he trails off. I scowl.

"My family doesn't need your charity. The Hawthornes or Home kids need these more than my family.." I mutter. That's at least half-true... My family is desperate, but we're not alone.

"I just want to help you. It would be a shame to see something so pretty wilt away," he says this so quietly, I could barely hear his words. There is no evidence of manipulation, teasing, or anger in his voice. A shy smile appears on his face. An unexpected warmth comes over me, and I'm fighting off a blush. _He's saying that to _me. _Since when did town boys do that to those from the Seam? _I accept his offer of the bread. Despite the burnt crust, it is the most nutritional bread in the district and will be perfect once we scrape the charred edges off.

My body moves before I can change my mind, and I throw my arms around his shoulders, well muscled for a boy his age. I allow myself a few seconds to just soak in his comforting hold on my body before gathering my belongings. I am unable to look him in the eye as I turn away into the fading light.

My mother's look of anger is quickly thrown from her features when she sees the bread. She slices half a loaf and feeds us all slice by slice. It won't last, this hearty bread, but it will do until I can gather up the courage to go into the woods by myself. I fall asleep with a full stomach for the first time in weeks, with Prim curled up by my side. Just before I slip into darkness, I conjure up the image of a smiling boy with the blond locks and captivating blue eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Katniss POV

Everyday from then on, I meet the boy with the golden hair and blue eyes in the Meadow after school. Sometimes, I bring Prim along to give her an opportunity to gather and draw with Peeta while I go and practice my shooting beyond the fence, but that is a rarity. Since my father can go back to work in the mines, he can also resume hunting. Every morning before school, well before dawn, we go out to hunt. My mother is wary of us going out in the woods in the pure darkness, but is just as hungry for fresh food as anyone. While my father invited me to go hunting after school as well sometimes, I reserved that time slot for Peeta. By now, my bow skills have improved enough to hit a target at relatively close range. My father claims I have a gift, but I relate the skill to many hours practicing everyday in the woods for a few weeks. The day before my first reaping, a Sunday, is where I really begin to think of Peeta in a different way.

The day starts out as any other Sunday morning; I rise before dawn and slip into my 'new' leather boots (originally, they were my mother's, but they are as new as any clothing in Twelve gets) and don my hunting clothes. My father, already awake, is ready in his hunting jacket, and we set off for the woods. However, once I have to start shooting, my focus is completely gone as I panic. The rabbit darts into the bushes while I shake, thinking only of what tomorrow will bring.

"Katniss, it's okay. Why don't you go back to the house and see if Mother can use any help grinding herbs," My father says soothingly as I tremble. I can only nod as I walk back to put away my small bow and sheath of arrows, already thinking about what time I have to meet Peeta today. I quicken my pace at the though of him showing up at the Meadow with his small sketch pad and the few pieces of coal he could hide from his mother to draw with. From what my mother's old pocket watch reads, it is almost ten o'clock, and he should be in the Meadow in a half an hour.

_Is it worth it to go home?_ I think, imagining each scenario. _If I'm a little late, he won't mind, would he? Or would he go home and be disappointed... Or even worse, start to hate me and never show up again?! _However ridiculous this reasoning seems, I wait in the Meadow anyway, relaxing in the heat of the summer sun. I imagine a world without the Capitol, without the Games. I imagine what it would be like to live without the constant fear hanging over our world. I wonder if my friendship with Madge would develop more if we weren't so worried about being attached to each other. After all, why try to befriend more people when they could just be taken away in an instant? The less people you love, the better. Take the Hawthorne's, for example. From a big, happy family of six to a struggling one of four, barely hanging onto life as their loved ones' lives were taken away in a matter of minutes. Gale had died the day before Haymitch had come around the district, secretly giving away food and medicine in the dead of night from an unknown provider. Most likely, my mother had said, the extra nutrition and medication would've spared Gale a few more days in order to get a heavier antibiotic to ultimately save him. However, help was almost always too far behind, and now Rory started hunting and trapping as well. Without Snow, the seven year old wouldn't have to face the woods and adulthood more than ten years too early...

It is now eleven o'clock, and Peeta has yet to show up. I retreat to the shade of the trees on the border of the fence, and already am sensing sunburn when he finally shows up.

"Where were you? I've been waiting for age-" I'm broken off by the tears in his eyes. Then, the limp becomes more apparent as he walks up the small hill leading to where I'm sitting.

"Oh, gosh Katniss, I'm sorry. I've been at the apothecary trying to get an herbal concoction for this-" he lifts up his left pant leg, revealing a gaping burn across his knee, "-since the town doctor is giving surgery," He explains, holding back fresh tears. The wound looks awful, with many blisters and bright red, festering flesh.

"Peeta, what happened? You could've just gone to my mother, smart one! Are you okay? You should have told me!" I'm caught in between yelling at him and panicking over his condition.

"My mother burnt me with the cookie pan after it came out of the oven. I'd accidently forgotten the yeast in our bread recipe and it never rose..." he is in too much pain to continue, and bursts into tears beside me. Thinking quickly, I remember that my father usually finished hunting by now and would take the route through the Meadow to walk to the Hob.

"Okay, Peeta, if you can walk, we can help you. Do you think you can make it to that group of bushes over there?" I inquire. The answer better be yes; the stupid boy walked from the apothecary to here, if he can make that walk, he can definitely walk a hundred yards.

"Yeah..." He says through a clenched jaw. Slowly, I help him to his feet and take on the role of a human crutch. Thankfully, we don't have to walk all the way to the break in the fence, for Father is already making his way to the Hob. Game bag slung over his back, he seems to be dragging a rather large haul, even for a Sunday.

"Father!" I call out; weary from dragging Peeta along for even fifty yards. "Father, we need help!" Immediately, he catches sight of us and jogs to where we've stopped.

"You Bann's boy?" he asks once he realizes who the merchant I'm supporting is. He has heard a bit about Peeta in the past two weeks, but probably wouldn't believe our friendship until he saw it himself.

"Yes, sir," Peeta replies. Suddenly, he's back to being that shy, awkward boy that I had first met on the day he gave me the bread. I'm so used to funny, smart, outgoing, and charming Peeta that this version of him seems like a complete stranger.

"Well, what's happened here?" he asks kindly. Peeta's shoulders relax a bit as he explains.

"My mother burned my knee with a baking tray after it was in the oven and then struck me with it..." his voice wavers. "I didn't mean to mess up the recipe, but now I lost two loaves worth of baking supplies and have to work it off in the bakery for the next four months..." Father's face turns from compassionate to absolute rage and disgust.

"That little bitch..." he mumbles, then proceeds to examine Peeta's knee. While I only noticed the burn at first glance, I now see where part of his knee looks deformed. He's in no shape to be moving; how he was able to make it to the Meadow, I'll never know. Father then scoops Peeta up in his arms and motions for me to take the game bag.

"Trade the dog at Sae's for a large package of stew. Then go straight to Hardy's and ask for two shoelaces in return for a rabbit and a squirrel. Don't trade in town. Bring the rest back here and I'll go there myself later on," My father instructs me. Though I'm willing to help him out, I'm terrified at the thought of going into the Hob by myself. The stares Rory Hawthorne gets are always ones of pity or distaste; never in between. If I go with my father, he earns looks of respect, but going alone is a whole other story. Plus, I'm deathly afraid of what might happen to Peeta. What if he needs to have surgery on his knee? While I have no doubt in my mind my mother would do a fantastic job, sterilization in District Twelve is always at a bare minimum. If he developed an infection, there's little chance he'd survive. The only time us in the districts get Capitol medicine is if we are in the Games or if Haymitch smuggles it. Also, the games are tomorrow, and if Peeta is reaped... Quickly, I hurry down the dirt road and into the Hob.

I struggle around the Hob with the game bag lying heavily across my back. No matter what position it is in, it always seems to be getting heavier and heavier by the minute. By the time I get to Hardy, I'm panting and dragging my feet with fatigue.

After trading for the shoelaces (which, surprisingly, was uneventful), I quickly walk over to Greasy Sae's booth and ask for a large container of stew.

"Where's your father, girlie?" she asked not unkindly. There was a hint of worry in her old grey eyes. "He didn't go and reinjure himself, did he?"

"Oh, no! He's just...Uh... Taking care of business..." I lie. To my surprise, she lets out a hearty laugh and says something unintelligible to the man running the stall next to her. Thoroughly flustered, I mumble a thanks and drop the wild dog off behind her stand. I hear her shout an apology after me as I run down the beaten path, both eager and dreading to get home.

Immediately upon entering, I drop off the game bag and run to the kitchen only to be shushed by my mother. There, Prim is wrapping homemade bandages around a stubby twig and placing them in a small cardboard box. Behind her is a small array of jars filled with herbs and medicine. I look frantically around for Peeta, hoping against hope that he's still here when my father ushers me over to the bedroom.

"We'll bring him home at around four, when he's due to wake up. He's out on sleep syrup, but you may go in and stay with him for a bit," father whispers. Peeta is lying face-up on Prim and my bed, with his leg propped up on stacks of thin sheets. His knee is fully wrapped in old pieces of cloth and sterile bandages peeking out from underneath the ratty old materials. "There's not much damage to his kneecap, surprisingly. He only dislocated it; hence the many layers of cloth." With that, my father turns back into the hallway and lifts the game bag over his shoulder once again. Kissing my mother goodbye, he silently leaves to finish trading.

"Katniss?" Peeta mumbles. I shoot up at the sound of his voice. Before I can say anything, he continues to half-slur-half-mumble. "I just want you to know..." I lean in closer, for the sleep syrup is pulling him under. "If I'm reaped tomorrow..." At this, I snort. Peeta's as safe as you can get: like me, he has only one slip out of thousands.

"You won't get picked," I scoff.

"Yeah, I will. I took tesserae for the kids in the Home," he continues to fight off the sleep syrup.

"What?" it dawns on me that he could very well get picked. There are more than four hundred kids in the home, an all-time low, but that is still four hundred more slips.

"My brothers, Thistle, and Delly are in on it, too," he says, obviously trying to comfort me.

"But you can't die! You can't just leave me here! Promise me you won't leave me..." I start to sob. A pang of sadness washes over me as I think of a world without Peeta. No more meeting in the Meadow at sunset. No more sharing food at the lunch tables at school. No more picking dandelions and teaching Prim how to draw. No more hope that everything can be okay...

"I promise that I won't die," he's getting hazier by the second. "But if it doesn't happen, then I need you to know that I love you... I have for a long time, actually..." I'm so shocked at this declaration of love that my tears stop, as though someone turned off a faucet. Peeta... Loves me? Since when? The overwhelming feeling of dread is appearing, and then the faucet is back on, and I'm making those awful choking sounds that I make when I cry. With no more energy to speak, Peeta grasps my hand in his and speaks one last time before drifting back to sleep.

"Always."


End file.
